Five Things Percy Does Better Than Annabeth
by shiiki
Summary: Annabeth likes being the best. But there are some things she just can't win at. Still, there are compensations.


**A/N** : And here we are. Last offering of the week … author's choice, I'll call it. Have some fluff to ring in the New Year!

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 **Five Things Percy Does Better Than Annabeth**

 **(And Why That's Fine By Her)**

 _i. making friends_

Running away at age seven because you believe yourself unwanted doesn't build a great foundation for trusting others. Meeting two great friends who promise to be your family, only to see one of them killed (well, sort of) a mere fortnight later doesn't help much with that either.

So it's no real wonder that Annabeth has a reputation for being aloof and scary. For years before Percy came along, Luke and Grover were her only real friends (and she always suspected the latter was as apprehensive about her as most of the other campers, only Grover has a yard of guts that no one ever seems to credit). Even Luke's approachable nature never seemed to extend to her. Annabeth quickly made her rep as 'that small but lethal Athena kid', with a side dish of 'you don't want to get on the wrong side of her!'

Until Percy crashes on the porch of the Big House when she is twelve and draws her unwillingly but helplessly into his orbit. Before she knows it, she's trekking across the country with him— _only_ because she wants a quest, she tells herself—and responding involuntarily to his stoic loyalty and big heart.

 _You're my friend, Seaweed Brain,_ she finds herself telling him reflexively, realising that it's true only after the words escape her mouth.

At the time she can't figure out how it happens so quickly, without her knowledge. How has she become such fast friends with an annoying kid who should have been her rival? But as she hangs around Percy more, she sees how he draws people easily into his circle. He's funny (well, his jokes are really stupid sometimes, but they always put people at ease), he trusts people (too much, if you ask her), and he doesn't judge them (clearly, since he's managed to pick a Cyclops as his best friend in seventh grade).

In five weeks, he collects a larger circle of friends than she's had in five years. It makes her a bit jealous. She tells herself her it's because he got so popular so fast. It has absolutely nothing to do with the many friends he's made who aren't her. And it has _especially_ nothing to do with the redheaded mortal he's managed to befriend when he was supposed to be on a quest to find _Annabeth._

All these people Percy wins over with his open heart and forgiving nature, and it's not really surprising, is it, considering she was the first one to fall for his charm? With the way he wove himself into her heart so intricately that she can no longer pinpoint the moment his life became inseparable from hers. Annabeth watches Silena go to pieces at the news of Beckendorf's death and finally admits that it's not Percy's ability to capture people's hearts that piques her, but his loyalty to all those people.

She's terrified that this loyalty is what will kill him in the end.

Her mom told her before that for a friend, Percy would sacrifice the world.

Annabeth knows that isn't quite right. For his friends, Percy would sacrifice _himself._

But then, somewhere between taking a knife in the shoulder on the Williamsburg Bridge (better her than him) and learning of his crazy bath in the Styx ( _You were my lifeline,_ he whispers in the quiet dawn at the Plaza Hotel when he thinks she's sleeping), Annabeth comes round to the even more terrifying truth: _she_ is the friend Percy would sacrifice everything for.

And when Olympus is in shambles around them, and Luke lies there dying, Annabeth will deal with all the guilt later because right now, she can't tear her eyes off Percy. He's alive. And let's be absolutely honest—it was never his charm with people she envied, because it's him she wants, him she'd sacrifice herself to keep alive. Percy, who's won her heart so thoroughly that she concedes defeat on all fronts.

Her heart sings because he's staring right back at her like she's all he cares about, too, and she doesn't need to be jealous of Percy's other friends because he loves _her._ Her: annoying, overbearing Annabeth I'll-kick-your-ass-any-day Chase.

In the end, Annabeth doesn't begrudge Percy's great talent at making friends. After all, if he hadn't been better than her at it, she might never have become his friend. And Annabeth doesn't even want to imagine a world where that's a possibility.

 _ii. sailing_

The irony of it isn't lost on Annabeth. A daughter of Athena rescuing a son of Poseidon from the sea and fitting their lifeboat with a sail … yeah, she's feeling pretty smug about her success. Even though it took her an hour to stop going backward, or in circles. She's got the basics now, and they're definitely sailing forward towards Polyphemus's island.

She's ninety percent sure?

Maybe eighty.

Still, she's feeling pretty good about herself until Percy wakes up and takes over. From the moment he takes the helm, their sailboat lurches forward at twice the speed. She hasn't even realised she's been overtrimming the sail, or that she could have pointed them that much closer to the wind, or—yeah, you get the picture.

And she knows this is Percy's domain, the same way he has perfect naval bearings or can steady the waters. She knows there's no point comparing her skills against his father's gifts. She wouldn't ever dream of pitting her non-existent lightning-summoning abilities against Thalia's after all.

But when she was working out the mechanics of sailing, it struck her that there was some logic to it, like a physics puzzle she could be adept at working out.

It irks her, just a bit, that even with something like this, she has to bow to someone else's natural talent.

So she can't help that when Percy announces that they're now making good progress for their destination, her 'Fine,' comes out a little snappishly.

There's a pause. Then—'Are you mad at me?'

'No.'

'Okay …' He draws out the word, clearly not buying it.

Annabeth sighs. 'You just made everything I did look pathetic.' She gestures at the makeshift sail, which is filling nicely now, and the way the bow of their boat is cutting smoothly through the chop of the waves.

'Are you kidding?' Percy lifts his hands from the tiller and waves them in the air (most unfairly, their boat continues to track straight, unlike when Annabeth let go and it immediately started turning in circles). 'You fished me out of the wreck. You figured out how to power our boat when Hermes's winds ran out. You worked out how to sail it. If my dad wasn't Poseidon, there's no way I'd be able to do any of this stuff.'

The sun sets their shadows dancing over the water's surface as Percy sails them on through the Sea of Monsters. The corners of Annabeth's lips turn up as she watches their wavy reflections. Percy makes it sound like what she accomplished despite her lack of natural talent is even more impressive than excelling at it.

'I'm glad you're with me, Seaweed Brain.'

'Ditto.'

Ten years later, she's sitting on the beach at Montauk, watching Percy rig up a little bathtub-shaped boat for his little sister's inaugural sailing lesson. He walks her through all the controls and their names, and then he says, 'Okay, Estelle, Annabeth's going to show you how it works now.'

'Me? Percy, you're the expert.'

Percy shakes his head. 'I just know automatically what to do. But you—you know how it all works. And Estelle's gonna need that, right, honey? If you ever get into a bind on the boat, or anywhere else, you need to know how to think like Annabeth to get yourself out of it.'

Estelle turns to her in wide-eyed anticipation.

'All right, Seaweed Brain,' Annabeth says. She plants a grateful kiss on Percy's cheek before she starts her lesson.

She loves that even with something he clearly does better than her, he can make her skills at it feel special anyway.

 _iii. swordplay_

Annabeth prides herself on being the best all-round fighter at Camp Half-Blood. She's trained the longest and probably the hardest, and although her weapon of choice is a dagger, she's more than capable of wielding any of the traditional Greek weapons with deadly accuracy.

Unfortunately, being the best all-round doesn't necessarily translate to being the champion in some specialised domains. Archery, for example, will always be a straight-out competition between members of the Apollo cabin. (Or the Hunters, on the rare occasion of their visits.)

Godly-parent-inherited skills aside, she does hold her own in wrestling (even Clarisse has been on the receiving end of her mean judo-flip enough times to respect her for it), knife-fighting (her dagger has practically been an extension of her arm since she was seven), and javelin-throwing (she has a great eye for vector angles and flight paths, after all).

But swordplay?

Oh, she's good enough, the best of her cabin, but even with the camp's previous swordmaster Luke gone, this is one title she's still failed to clinch. And the reason for that is the annoying, messy-haired son of Poseidon with whom she's currently sparring.

Percy rarely gloats about his skill even though he enjoys winning as much as the next demigod. His pride in his achievements is usually balanced with good-natured humility. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, though, when he finally knocks her sword aside and holds the point of Riptide to her throat.

'Surrender?' he says in a voice that contains the barest hint at arrogance.

'Fine,' she growls. 'But don't get cocky.'

'Wouldn't dream of it, Wise Girl.'

'A rematch. Different weapon.' Give her any other—a knife, a javelin, a spear—and she can school him for sure.

He shakes his head. 'You don't want that. It'd be too easy—we both know who would win.'

A smile tugs at Annabeth's lips. 'Oh?'

'But because I'm generous …' He tosses her sword back to her. 'Best of three. It'll only be one more, though.'

Annabeth levels her sword at him, stepping back into an attack stance. 'Are you trying to say I'm easy?'

Percy shakes his head. 'You're always a challenge. I'd say winning _any_ fight with you gets me bragging rights. And since this is the only one I actually have a chance at …'

'So we're playing for bragging rights?'

'We could up the stakes.'

'What would you suggest as a prize?'

Percy waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 'I'm sure I can think of something.'

He raises his sword and their second duel begins.

It _is_ only one match, as he predicted. Percy grins when he disarms her, and immediately puts an arm around her waist, drawing her close.

'Time to collect,' he says.

'What prize are you looking for, then?'

He pretends to think about it, his eyes twinkling in a way that makes her breath catch in her throat. 'I think a kiss might cover it.'

Their lips meet and Annabeth sighs with pleasure as she melts into their kiss.

She's the best at pretty much anything. She can let him have the laurels for swordplay—especially if this is the outcome.

 _iv. cooking_

It makes no sense whatsover that Percy should be better than her at cooking, no sense at all that his slapdash approach even works when it's an activity that involves recipes—step-by-step plans that you should be able to follow to success. Especially when her attempts to go back and forth from the complex instructions to the various tasks of chopping and mixing and heating continually end in mistaken ingredients and burnt meals.

She blames it on her ADHD brain and the sheer amount of distraction available when you're told to preheat the oven to 350ºF and then measure out 1.5 cups of flour, and oh, chop a pineapple while you're at it (where's that YouTube video that shows you how to slice and core it?) and add a tablespoon of water and a teaspoon of baking soda; also dice the tomatoes (are diced vegetables the ones that look like cubes or strips again?) With all the going back and forth between the two-page recipe and what she's actually doing, is it any wonder that she's gotten distracted and added too much baking soda or worse, forgotten that there's _actually something in the oven?_

Except Percy's every bit as ADHD as she is and he muddles along merrily, barely consulting the recipe at _all,_ and it just doesn't compute that his pizza turns out perfectly edible. Delicious, even.

'That's just how it is, honey,' Sally laughs when Annabeth mentions this. 'Cooking isn't an exact science. Recipes are just approximations. You learn as you go along what works and what doesn't.'

Sally, she notices, cooks more or less like Percy does, measuring by taste and feel rather than utensils. It's probably how Percy learned, too, gaining his kitchen experience from years as his mom's helper and taste-tester.

Still, it takes a while (and many disastrous attempts at stubbornly trying—and failing—to follow recipes to the letter) before she finally accepts that Percy's spontaneous style works better. Even when Annabeth finally manages to produce a casserole to the exact specifications of her stepmom's recipe, it still lacks the flair that Percy's hodge-podge creations bring: that extra bit of flavour that seems completely accidental, yet just _works._

Although she hates admitting defeat at anything, Annabeth figures she doesn't _really_ lost out when Percy beats her cooking. She can afford to appreciate Percy's culinary talent. After all, why knock it when she can come home to a hot meal ready on the table?

 _v. making things up as they go along_

Always, always have a plan.

It's the adage Annabeth lives by, and it's a good one.

Like most demigods, her brain is wired for combat, which is great for executing battle tactics, since she's less likely to be caught off-guard when she notices just about everything. It's not so helpful on a day-to-day basis, where it's so easy to be distracted by the myriad of detail that the world offers.

Having a plan for everything helps with that. It gives her an outline to follow for the stuff she needs to get done. Plans keep her focused on the important goals and the steps she needs to get there, like the whole temple she needs to build rather than the way the sunlight sparkles on the individual panes of glass, turning it her favourite shade of green.

Plans keep you from getting lost in the details. They make the difference between winning a war and winning a skirmish. Any good strategist (and children of Athena pride themselves on being the best) knows that a battle won is only worth as much as its contribution to the grand scheme of things. Sure, spontaneity can have its place in a fight; sometimes it can give you a tactical advantage, too, the ability to adapt swiftly and flexibly to changing circumstances. (Percy, she admits, does this so much better, which probably explains why she's hard-pressed to win a sword fight against him.)

Battles, though, don't win wars. Strategies do. Unfortunately, things don't always go according to plan. In fact, they seem to go exceedingly off script more often than not.

And the pink cross staring up at her from the stick right now is _definitely_ not part of her script.

Annabeth closes her eyes as she leans back against the toilet seat, but she can still see the image imprinted on the inside of her eyelids, like a taunting crossroads.

Has she mentioned that she hates choices, too?

Two options stretch before her like diverging paths in a labyrinth: one leads to certain heartbreak, the other to an uncertain future.

A part of her already realises at this moment that from here on in, no matter what she chooses, there's no foolproof plan to deal with what she's about to face. Although her brain tries to resist, tries to reach for a roadmap, her plans crumble to pieces as soon as they form.

There's a _person_ inside her.

Percy is thrilled, of course. He doesn't care that this isn't part of the plan, just spins her round with his face glowing as if _he's_ the one carrying new life. It takes a good five minutes before he settles down and notices that the expression on her face doesn't exactly match his.

'What's wrong? Annabeth, this is amazing!'

Easy for him to say. He's not facing months of mood swings and a body that will turn into something not-his, with things she can't even imagine now thwarting her plans every day.

'Hey.' Percy puts a hand to her cheek. 'It's gonna be fine.'

'It's just, we had a plan. We weren't even going to _talk_ about kids until—'

'Annabeth, when have our plans ever worked? We plan, we get there, all Hades breaks loose!'

There's a pause the length of a heartbeat. (And she imagines a second, tiny one fluttering deep inside her.)

'Are you quoting from that Harry Potter movie?'

'Er … maybe? But it's true, isn't it? Not that I'm equating this to all Hades breaking loose. All Olympus breaking loose, maybe. Well, actually that's not much better.'

She shakes her head. 'Plans work, Percy. That's why we make them. I mean, look at our first visit to the Underworld! Our plan got us past Charon and Cerberus. And remember when we rescued Grover and Clarisse? Our plan got you into Polyphemus's cave. And when Kronos attacked Manhattan—our strategy worked pretty well against his forces.'

Percy raises his eyebrows. 'Except Cerberus didn't exactly go for the stick. And Polyphemus almost killed you. And Kronos got to Olympus anyway. The way _I_ remember it, we made up half of it as we went along.'

' _You_ made up all of it as you went along.'

He shrugs. 'It worked. We're still here, aren't we?'

Their eyes meet, and the shadow of their dark trudge through an unspeakable place passes between them, where every step was unknown and their plans were tenuous at best and futile at worst. A place she never would have gotten through without Percy.

Percy deals with every distracting detail that gets thrown at him by handling each one whenever it comes along. Whatever life chucks at him, he improvises, and Annabeth has to admit, sometimes that works pretty darn well.

Infuriatingly, he's right. You can never plan for every contingency, and when that occurs, most ironically, the only way to get back on track _is_ to be spontaneous.

'I'm not good at dealing with stuff that's not planned.'

And maybe that's why she wants her plans so badly: it's not because she can't handle things without one, but because she's not the best at it.

Annabeth hates not being first-rate at anything.

'Well, I am. And don't forget, we're in this together. We'll figure it out.'

'I hate when you're the expert.'

But really, she's glad that he's good at making things up as they go along. It's why they make a good team. She can take care of the strategy and he can deal with the tactics.

They're going to need both on the battlefield of parenthood.

Percy laughs and kisses her. And Annabeth feels better, more ready to face the future.

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 **A/N** : This took _forever_ to write. I don't even know why, since I knew what the five things were going to be from the start. But I wrote the first snippet (cooking) in January and the last snippet (sailing) in December. You'd think with the massive fics I've completed this year I'd be able to handle one tiny fic in a more timely fashion. *shrugs* Anyway, at least it's done within the year! Just in time to round off 2017 with some good old Percabeth fluff. :)

I hope you've all enjoyed the giftfics this week. I've had so much fun creating, and it's been good to do some different things! And can I just say how much I have loved sharing my fic with you guys this year? I love every review, even those (maybe especially those) that tell me something that didn't work so well. It helps me so much, and I super appreciate all of you who have taken the time to drop a note and let me know I'm not just sitting here alone throwing random rubbish out into the void. Even a 'hey, hello, I'm reading!' makes me smile.

(And thank you, the four of you who gave me some reassurance on _The Silent Goddess_. It's always a worry in an exchange like that to come up with something your recipient will enjoy, and much as I love fic exchanges, they've changed a bit since I first started participating! I do love what I write, but I guess it's probably not everyone's cup of tea, since it's kind of long and not terribly fluffy for the most part ... that's fine when I'm writing the stories that come to me, but as a gift you just want to be extra mindful of what people actually want to read!)

When I started out writing in PJO fandom, I'd been on hiatus from writing for so long (seriously, I had the longest period of writer's block ever, and PJO got me out of it, so I'm so terribly grateful for this series!) Daughter of Wisdom started as just a fun thing for myself when I was back home on a month-long visit to sort out visa stuff. And when I was done with it, I thought hey, maybe someone else will enjoy this. But I had no clue where was the best place for sharing stuff any more. Although FFnet hasn't always been my favourite posting platform because the posting set-up annoys me (those of you who have noticed the little lapses in formatting on occasion, heh, sorry—I really have no idea why it inserts weird characters out of nowhere sometimes), I'm so glad I did come back to this site because by golly, you guys make it so worth it. *big hugs round*

I was trying to round up all the stuff I'd written this year, and to my amazement, there's actually quite a bit. There's a bunch of snippets floating around that I did for various ficathons and other random crap that I never got round to posting here, so you guys will have to let me know if you're interested in reading those and if you are, I'll see about putting them up in between working on the next long story.

Okay okay, time to get off my soapbox. Sorry to blather on. To make up for those of you who actually read this horrendously long author's note, I'm including a bonus for you! Read on for a sneak preview of the next DoW instalment.

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My dream started like this.

I was standing under a threatening ceiling of sky. Around me, slabs of black marble fell in a haphazard circle. They made a loose ring around a central agora like the amphitheatre at camp. An audience sat on the chipped boulders and cracked rock, their eyes fixed upon a semi-circle of seats in the centre of the ruins. They were a motley group of twelve: from the tiny brunette with soft, glowing eyes on the far right, whose feet barely scraped the ground, to the bearded man near the middle with a rough, sun-kissed face and wrinkles around his sea-green eyes. They were the same shape and shade as my best friend, Percy Jackson's, and nearly as alluring.

Dead centre of the group sat a handsome, bronze-skinned man in a chiton woven of pure gold. The lady next to him wore a dress of rich, peacock blue and a stern expression under her crown of dark hair. Their seats were raised just slightly above the others'.

Zeus and Hera, king and queen of Olympus. And the remaining ten seats were filled with the rest of the Olympian council.

They were all looking towards the western horizon. We must have been high in the mountains because the constellations were sinking down to us, like the world was being compressed by sky. An undercurrent of nervous anticipation flowed among the audience—a crowd holding its collective breath as they waited for a wrestler to deliver a death blow.

The howl was so loud, I nearly jumped a foot in the air. It was a roar of outrage and helplessness, echoing through the stars.

The sky jerked like it had been caught mid-fall, and retreated, rising back to a normal level. The sensation of being trapped in a shrinking box dissipated.

'It is done,' boomed Zeus. 'Bring the next supplicants forward.'

OoOoO

I think I've mentioned that I'm off on holiday in a couple of days, but when I'm back weekend after next, I'm going to get started on the next DoW instalment—look out for _The Necklace of Harmonia_ coming soon! I'm very excited for this one, and not just because _TC_ is my favourite PJO book. Anyway, until then—Happy New Year everyone!


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